Silence Isn't Always Golden
by MyNameIsCrazy
Summary: She doesn't say much. Actually, she doesn't say anything at all. She's not mute. Just...silent. But someone at the prison breaks her out of her shell slowly. And it becomes quite the curious series of events. R&R, follow, all that awesomesauce stuff!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own The Walking Dead, or any of the titles or characters mentioned from the published works. The only one I own is "Nellie". Thanks!**

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><p>She kept to herself mostly. They rescued her a while back, and the only words they heard out of her since was a quiet "Thank you...too many to count...twelve. My own...they were walkers." Twelve small words. That's all they got out of her. Those were her first and last words the prison group heard her speak. They didn't even know her name. The kids started to call her Nellie, and gradually, she started to answer to it. She had a name. It was unique. Beautiful. Unheard of. And it was no where's close to Nellie.<p>

Pretty thing she was. Still was determined to wear makeup every day. The women admired her courage. The men thought she was stupid for wasting her time with such frivolities.

But she pulled more than her weight around the prison. Killed twice as many walkers at the fence as anyone. Cooked more than Carol. Volunteered for every run made. Always came back with something. And it was always something good. And needed. Diapers for Judith. Books for the kids. Seeds from local nurseries for new crops.

Though she said nothing, her actions spoke louder. The person most interested in her was Daryl. He was always trying to make her talk, trying to figure out what made her tick. But no matter how hard he tried, she was mute.

No one could make that girl talk. But everyone tried.

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><p>She sat in her cell, reading a copy of <span>Pride and Prejudice<span> she picked up on one of her runs last week. She was into the book at a decent chunk, as this was where everyone could find her when she wasn't helping out around the place or on a run. She lay, draped over her bed, resting her head on a pillow at the foot of her cot, laying on her stomach.

The love stories she read were her escape from this hell. She relished in the tension between the lovely Lizzy Bennett and the tall, dark and handsome Mr. Darcy. She fantasized about the friendship and love shared between Fanny Price and Edmund Bertram. She floated away with the relationship between Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester. Every time she read, she lost herself. And she found no greater pleasure.

There was a knock on her cell bars and she looked up, shaken from her trance.

Daryl was standing in the doorway, holding out a package to her, wrapped in old cloth. Tentatively, she sat up, placed her book down on her bed and swung her legs over the side, sitting properly. She stood and walked over to the doorway and took the package from Daryl. The corner of his lips turned up briefly and he stared her right in the eye. She didn't smile, or say anything. She only walked back over to her bed and sat down, leaving room enough for another person to sit.

"Can I?" Daryl asked quietly. She looked up at him and nodded. He stepped into her room and sat down on her bed. It creaked a little, but it was comfortable. Though she was selfless when it came to the others, she preferred sleeping in comfort. An intricately embroidered bedspread was folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and large feather pillows were stacked at the head. She was a picky person when it came to herself, but for others, she was like a nun. He saw it when she was with the others. He paid attention to her. He paid attention to everything about her.

She delicately pulled the fabric off of the object and bit her lip. It was a copy of Wuthering Heights. One of the only classic romance novels she was never able to find. She looked up at Daryl, a tear flooding her right eye. It fell down her cheek and before it dripped off her jaw, Daryl reached up and brushed it off, his fingers curled under her jaw, his thumb lingering on her cheek. A dull tingle started at that spot and traveled, vein-like up her face and down her neck to the rest of her, engulfing her in a strange tingle that she hadn't felt in what seemed like eons.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible. Daryl smiled, nodded and stood, leaving her in peace. She watched him leave, and looked back down at the book. She realized that he was always gentle with her. He never yelled at her. He never called her stupid or anything like that. He always made sure she came back safely. He looked at her always in the same way. There was something indecipherable in his eyes, a look that she couldn't make out, but it was starting to become clearer. The book sat comfortably in her fingers and she sighed. He had a soft spot for her. It was clear now.

She stood and walked over to her desk and placed the book between Jane Eyre and Persuasion, brushing her fingers over the spine. As her fingers left the spine, she admired her collection and, for the first time in months, smiled.

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><p>He walked outside, hands behind his head and took a deep breath. He knew he would be the one to make her talk. he just had to hot wire the right red wires together to make her run. He smiled for what felt like the first time in years. The dust blew off of his dead emotions, the gears starting to turn, the lights flickering on. Slowly, he began to understand that he had a soft spot for this mute girl. And it wasn't because she was pretty or she wore makeup. She was selfless. Brave. Strong. She knew who and what she was fighting for. She knew what was important.<p>

He reached into his pocket and looped the small thin chain around his fingers and drew out the necklace. It was a small gold pendant. An open gold and silver book on a gold chain, a bird sitting on a branch engraved in the right page of the book. He held it in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

"She'll love it. The necklace," a soft voice said from behind. Daryl turned to see Beth standing behind him, her hands shoved into her back pockets.

"Ya think?" he replied. Beth nodded, smiling sweetly. He reached into his pocket and drew out a velvet box and opened it. He placed the necklace inside and closed it, putting the box back into his pocket.

"The book was a good start," Beth added, folding her arms. Daryl smirked.

"I hope so. She didn't say anything, but that's typical. She never says anything," he said, conveniently leaving out the part where she had said 'thank you' for the book.

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><p>She set aside P&amp;P and pulled <span>Wuthering Heights<span> off of her desk and cracked the book open. The smell of a new book filled her nostrils and she tugged her curtain down as to not be disturbed and beamed as she read the scribbled note inside. 'Enjoy I guess. It was the only one you were missing. -D' She turned right to the first chapter and started reading.

She took up her usual position she read in and became completely engrossed. She didn't even notice when Daryl pulled back the curtain and peered in at her as she read.

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><p><strong>AN: Can anyone guess what's going to happen? Follow and review and find out soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: "Nellie" and Daryl's theme is Skinny Love by Birdie. Just listen to it while you read this chapter. It really works. **

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><p>She read until what felt like the sun had gone down, or at least until Carol came and called her for dinner. She nodded to the kind woman as she stood at her cell. Carol told her to wash up and come help with dinner and rose, walking out of her cell-room. She walked to the bathroom and poured some of the water in the pitcher over her hands, shaking them dry out to the makeshift kitchen.<p>

She walked past Daryl sitting at one of the tables, leaning back in his chair, cleaning the barrel of a small handgun. Carol caught her gaze and smiled, but "Nellie" only walked by her to the stove top. Carol seemed to be perceptive, but even on this, she couldn't pick anything up between "Nellie" and Daryl.

As she cooked, he watched her rather intensely. The way she breathed, the way she moved, the way her eyes flickered, how her lashes opened and closed like dark butterfly wings, creating miniature tornadoes.

She looked up at him every now and then, and she'd catch him staring, but he'd look away from her as soon as she looked at him. She blushed at this and tried to ignore the knots forming in her stomach.

It was like they were back in high school, dodging each other's glances, cheeks flaring red, stomachs tying themselves in knots, that awkward lump in their throats when they wanted to say something. Carol was facing away from the two, but the tension was easy to pick up on.

People were slowly making their way to the small galley area and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate but that slight static electricity still flickered between the redneck and the pretty brunette.

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><p>After dinner, she returned to her cell to read more of her new book. She lay, sprawled on her bed and her head on her pillow at the top of her bed, her book propped open on her stomach. There was a knock on the bars and she looked up. Rick was standing in her doorway, thumbs in his belt loops.<p>

"I need you on the fence tomorrow. Also, there will be a run in the morning," he instructed. "Nellie" nodded and Rick left her in peace. She turned to the lantern on the desk and shrugged. It was late by her calculations so she decided to get ready and go to bed.

As she was settling in, she heard the sounds of everyone else going to sleep as well. Yawning, coughing, snoring. All sounds that made her feel...safe. She rolled over and faced the wall that her cot and put her hand under her head. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But it wasn't working.

She had acute hearing. She could hear not only the people in the cell block, but the walkers outside moaning and groaning and clanging against the chain-link. All of that safety was knocked out of her like a blow to the stomach. How could they feel safe with just a flimsy fence holding out tens of hundreds of walkers?

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><p>She woke up the next morning and stretched, but feeling no more so refreshed than she did any other morning. It was just another day before she finally bit it. Or rather, she finally got bit. But who had the time to focus on the negative? They were safe, They were protected, they had armaments. They were holed up in a prison of all places. One of the most secure places in America.<p>

But sooner or later, it wouldn't be enough. Sooner or later, hell would open and swallow them all whole. She snickered to herself. Sooner or later? Hadn't the world already gone to hell? When God said the dead would rise up, she doubted he meant it like this.

She dragged herself out of bed and shoved her feet into her Wellington boots and plodded over to the door, snaked the chain around and unlocked the padlock that kept her door closed and her room safe. Grabbing the coat she left hanging up outside her room, she tugged it on and walked out to the makeshift outdoor kitchen to make herself something for breakfast.

There was nothing there though. She looked in the cupboards for something but there was nothing. Not even an old box of granola bars to nibble on. She sighed despairingly and made to leave. But as she made to turn around, she felt a presence behind her and she turned around to see Daryl standing there.

He stepped up close to her and brushed a lock of hair in her face behind her ear, his fingers lingering tenderly on her face. She leaned into his touch and put her hand on his wrist, closing her eyes.

Even though she wouldn't speak, the two had grown close over the past few weeks. He put his other hand on her left cheek and brought her face to his, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as well. She wrapped her right hand around his left wrist, holding his hands against her face.

The two stood like that for a while, eyes closed, wishing the world away. Then she pulled her head away and opened her eyes, looking at him.

"I never told you my real name, did I?" she whispered. Daryl opened his eyes as well and looked at her. He shook his head and she smiled weakly.

"It's Monterey," she replied. The corners of his lips pulled up and he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling some over her shoulder.

"I like it," he replied. She smiled.

"Thanks. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Promise. Your's and my secret," he whispered, kissing her nose. She blushed and smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him tightly. He put his arms around her shoulders, holding her equally as tightly, silently vowing to himself to keep her safe whatever the cost.


	3. Chapter 3

The run that morning was far. They came upon an late army camp outside a superstore. Walking through, Monterey looked around at the corpses lying on the ground that had been baking there for some time. She held her gun at her side, but was ready to fire at any moment. She kept close behind Daryl but made sure there was a decent distance between them in case something happened.

They reached the store front and Daryl pounded a few times on the window. He said it took a few minutes for them to come to the window so he took a seat on the small ledge.

Zach kept pestering Daryl about what he did before the world went to shit, and every time, Daryl shook his head, telling him he was wrong. Monterey stood against the wall near Sasha, her arms folded over her chest, her automatic strapped over her shoulder.

Suddenly, walkers slammed against the windows and they headed inside. Gathering what she could find, she threw it into a bag. She headed to the makeup aisle and snagged a few eyeshadow palettes and some new eye liner and mascara to boot. Sasha, who was near her, chuckled and walked away. Monterey looked in her direction and then headed back towards Daryl.

As she was walking back, there was a huge crash and wine shelves went toppling down, falling right onto Bob. Then things got even worse as walkers started falling through the roof, landing everywhere, some bashing their heads open, killing them, others near people. Then the worst of all happened. An army helicopter fell in on them. Luckily, they were able to kill most of the walkers and get Bob out before he was eaten, but Zach wasn't as lucky.

They all had to get out of there as soon as possible, leaving Zach behind to die. Monterey didn't feel guilty about it anymore. It was the way it had to be now.

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><p>That night, Monterey stood behind the wall as Daryl told Beth about Zach. She didn't cry, which was good. She had heard stories from when Beth was a softer girl.<p>

Daryl walked back towards Monterey and the two headed to her room/cell. Monterey closed the bars and put down her sheet, turning on the lamp.

"You said earlier you would tell me about who you were before the outbreak?" Daryl asked, sitting next to her. He looked down at her hands, which were in his rough ones, her left leg folded under her other one.

Monterey nodded.

"I was a high school earth science teacher..."

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><p><em>"And that is how metamorphic rocks are formed," Miss Talbot said. All of her students looked at the board and copied notes fervently. They may not enjoy school, but Miss Talbot was probably the best science teacher in the history of ever. Everyone who had been taught by her loved her. <em>

_The bell rang after about ten minutes and there was a flood of students out of the room and more that came in. Monterey cleared the smartboard and put up the notes for that day's class. From outside, there was a crash and a scream. Sirens blared and loud voices came over megaphones calling for an immediate evacuation. Students rushed to the windows to get a good look at the front of the school where two armoured vehicles, several cop cars and an army tank rolling up the turnaround. _

_"Everyone please stay calm," chief of police, Sergeant Hammond said, standing on top of the first armoured vehicle. "I need everyone to leave and get home now. Pack what you need, food, water, any provisons and evacuate the city immediately. We do not want hysteria." _

_But there was. Students, and teachers, started scrambling to get out and get home. Parents lined up out the wazoo to get their children and get out of the city and to somewhere safer. Monterey looked around and abandoned her bags and headed immediately for her car. She was in trouble. She lived in the country with her fiancee. He was a police officer and he knew what had happened. _

_There was an epidemic of a virus that spread through bodily fluid contact. It killed, brought back to life, and destroyed. It was so cleverly called the walking dead virus._

_She sped home, disregarding the cop chasing her. She looked down briefly at her dash and her heart sank. Her gas tank was empty. Pulling over to the side of the road, she let the cop do his job. But she knew him. She scrambled out of the car and ran back to fling herself into Jason's car. _

_"Get home now," she ordered. He nodded and took off, abandoning her car on the side of the road. _

_The two got home and he packed the car with food while she grabbed the camping gear from the garage. Piling back into the car, they turned back to the city and headed out with the droves of people doing the same. _

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><p>"We got out alright. And we were on the road, just me and him. We met up with some other cops and their wives and a sheriff who officiated Jason's and my marriage. But it was about a year afterwards. We were in a camp, and our fire was dying low. I was sleeping, and I heard something. I looked out the car window and a walker dumped itself on the car, pawing at the window. We were surrounded. Jason told me to leave, to take the car and leave, that he was going to be alright. But walkers got him. I didn't stay to see him die," Monterey concluded, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked hard and they fell down her pink cheeks and dripped onto her shirt.<p>

Daryl took one of his hands and brushed her tears away gently. She lost it and flung herself into his arms and wept, her entire body shaking. He held her close, cradling her in his arms, rocking back and forth. She gripped his shirt in her hand tightly and howled like a distressed animal.

People heard her crying, but no one asked why. They were decent enough people to let her cry and not ask questions. Quiet women are either plotting or distressed. This time, she was distressed. And everyone figured that the only person to keep her calm was the man holding her in his arms at that very moment.


End file.
